The World Is Quiet Here
by Tabithatibi
Summary: A series of oneshots all inspired by Taylor Swift songs. In no particular order, and with the characters always swapping around. I didn't know what to call it, so I settled for the VFD motto ...
1. Back To December

_Hi! This is a series of oneshots from ASOUE which are all based on Taylor Swift songs, because she is officially amazing. :) They aren't exactly sonfics though, because the lyrics aren't included. First up (they aren't in any order): Back To December._

* * *

Back To December

Beatrice swallows, her breathing fast. He's there, right in front of her.

'Hi, Lemony. How's life? How're Kit, Jacques? I haven't seen them for ages … '

He stares at her blankly, shock in his eyes, before he speaks. Somehow, the weather comes up, something about work. And all the while, Beatrice feels herself dying from shame and sorrow.

'I'm so sorry,' she whispers suddenly, a tear slipping down her cheek. Lemony surveys her, unsure whether to comfort the crying woman or to turn his back and walk away. He's stiff, on his guard, but she knows that he still loves her. Beatrice bights her lip, willing the tears to stop. She knows he's imagining that night … the night he proposed, and she said yes – and then how she sent him that letter, that two-hundred page letter explaining why she could never marry him. What had she been thinking?

She forces herself to stand up straight, she closes her mind from emotion and looks him in the eye.

'I'm sorry for everything. For pulling you along, for letting you go … I'm just so sorry.'

He says nothing, though she can see tears pooling in his eyes, and he struggles not to cough.

Words spill from her mouth, she can't stop talking, 'I thought I made the right choice, but all I can think about is how much I miss you … It's been horrible, I – I keep going back in my mind, to when I wrote the letter, and I … In my mind I don't write it. I'd change it all, if I could.'

She pauses, feeling with growing dread the chasm that seems to be opening up between them.

'I can't sleep. I keep just replaying it, over and over … Oh, Lemony I missed your birthday!' She can feel the tears spilling over once more, leaving her shaking in front of him.

Awkwardly, Lemony reaches out, tries to envelope her in his arms, but she fights him off, determined to explain herself.

'I can't stop thinking of all the wonderful times – last summer, in the autumn … you always liked the autumn. I just – ,' she stops, letting herself search his eyes for any sign of understanding. When she next speaks, it's in a whisper.

'All these horrible fears, thoughts, all the reasons not to marry you, they just spilled over, and I had to make a decision … I only wish I hadn't said goodbye … Lemony, for what it's worth, I spend all my living moments just going back to December, wishing I hadn't turned my back on you.'

Beatrice looks into Lemony's face before throwing herself at him and holding on as tight as she can.

Beatrice knows she's throwing away every scrap of pride she has, coming back to him like this, but she doesn't care. She speaks softly into his hair, whispering how she misses his smile, his eyes, how he used to hold her when they played cards together and how they spent hours dancing together to an ancient record player in Lemony's tiny office.

Slowly, Beatrice straightens up, backing away but keeping his face cupped in her hand.

'I know I have no right to be thinking this … and I know it's not possible, it just can't happen, but, Lemony, if we could love again, I swear I would treat you well. I'd love you right. But that can't happen, I know that, and I wouldn't blame you if you bolted your door and never spoke to me again, but I want you to know that I miss you, I will always love you, and … and I go back to December all the time.'

For a second, she holds still, and they are the only people in the world. Then, her hand drops to her side, and she walks away without a backward glance.

Lemony is left, tears rolling down his face, alone in a world of smoke and mirrors.

* * *

_Did you like it? I really enjoyed this one. :)_

_Fearlessly,_

_LOVELOVELOVE_

_-T-_


	2. Enchanted

_Here's the second one: Enchanted. Featuring Sunny Baudelaire and an OC. I don't normally use OCs, but seriously, I had to for Sunny. :)_

* * *

Enchanted

The room was dark, lit only by a few flickering candles which had been strategically placed around the walls. Sunny Baudelaire stood by one of these candles, sipping nervously at some sort of Martini, the taste of which she didn't much care for. She hardly knew anyone here. A room of strangers, all crowding in, leering and laughing at jokes she couldn't remember making. She smiled weakly back, wishing with all her heart that they would just _go away_.

A small group of men move away, and she took a gulp of the drink, wincing as the bitter taste flooded her mouth. Lowering her glass, Sunny was about to move across to a tall, imperious-looking woman she felt she might have met once or twice before, when she saw him. Who he was, Sunny had no idea. She stared, transfixed at the man who stood opposite her, his features blurred by the dim light. Suddenly, he turned to face her, and he too stopped in his tracks. Sunny's breath caught in her throat as his silhouette began to make its way towards her.

'Do I know you?' The man was right in front of her now. His voice, light and breezy, caught her off-guard.

'I – I don't believe I've had the pleasure. Sunny Baudelaire, at your service.' She extended her hand to shake his and, in one smooth motion, he caught up her hand and stooping low, kissed it.

Though she felt annoyed with herself for it, Sunny felt herself blushing and small giggle escaped her lips as he said, 'Enchanté, mademoiselle.'

'And what, sir, is your name, if I might venture to ask the question?' said Sunny, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth as she watched him straighten up.

'James Spickett, delighted to meet you.'

Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered to Sunny that it was interesting that the initials J.S should turn up again, but Sunny's mind was in such a rush that she barely paused to consider it.

'Really? Why, sir, I fear you tell a lie; I heard that James Spickett was a most handsome fellow – I swear, you cannot be him!'

Sunny almost laughed out loud at the look of momentary shock upon his face before he plastered a dare-devil grin back in place.

'I was only teasing! I've never even heard of you.'

'Oh, well that's comforting,' he replied sarcastically, 'there I was, thinking that you were about to reassure me of my good looks, and what do you do? You reassure me of nothing but the fact that I am a complete nobody. Thanks.'

Sunny grinned, 'Oh, you're welcome, James. Any time, really.'

Sunny didn't know how she kept her end of the conversation going that night; her head was a whirl of emotions and she laughed at anything and everything he said. She couldn't deny it – there was something about him that sent her into a spin, and all she knew was that she was so enchanted to meet him.

Sitting in the taxi on the way home, Sunny leant her head against the window, a blush upon her pale skin as she watched the night sky sparkle overhead. She felt thrilled, exhilarated, but above all, wonder-struck. Did he know? Had he felt the same way?

All night long Sunny paced her bedroom in her bare feet, her night gown flowing behind her. It was two in the morning and she wanted nothing more than to open her front door and find James standing there, telling her how enchanted he had been to meet her.

Sunny twirled around her room, dancing to music only she could hear, a smile curving her mouth as she watched this most flawless of nights fly past.

_James Spickett_.

His very name made her blush, and she fell on to her bed, praying to meet him again – if their story ended here …

Suddenly she sat up. What if he was in love with someone else? Some other girl? _Please no … Please don't have somebody waiting on you … _

'I was enchanted to meet you, James Spickett. You've made me wonder-struck. Please … '

_Please don't have somebody waiting on you. _

_

* * *

_

_Like it? Love it? Hate it?_

_Fearlessly, _

_LOVELOVELOVE_

_-T-_


	3. Speak Now

_Hi! This chapter: Speak Now! :) I still have some review replies to see to, and I promise I will, but not just yet, because I'm busy writing! Thanks for all the great support, hope you like this! :)_

* * *

Speak Now

Isadora walked awkwardly forwards, her cheeks burning. She was sure everyone was watching her …What was she doing here? She wasn't the sort of girl to do this was she? Bursting in to storm a wedding … it just wasn't something Isadora would do. Then again, Klaus was not the sort of boy to be marrying the wrong girl.

The pews were filled to the brim. She spotted some of Klaus' old friends, saw Violet and Sunny sitting huddled together, looking miserable and out-of place. Around them, Fiona's extended family sat, talking in loud, grating voices, all of them dressed in pastels.

Isadora could hear raised voices from a room at the back of the church, and, curiosity overtaking her, she peered inside. There she stood, in all her glory: Fiona, wearing a dress that reminded Isadora of nothing more than an exceptionally large meringue. She was yelling, no, _screaming_ at some poor bridesmaid. Hastily, Isadora backed out, feeling sick.

Looking up, she spotted Klaus, nervously fingering his bow-tie as he stood waiting for the ceremony to begin. The sight breaks Isadora's heart. Surely he hadn't wanted this ridiculous excuse for a wedding?

Lost in a daydream, Isadora's mind became a swirl of blissful thoughts: she could see herself standing up, telling Klaus to stop the wedding.

_'Don't say yes, run away with me,' _she would call to him, her arm outstretched_, 'I'll meet you when you're out of the church, round at the back door, it's the quickest route. Don't wait – don't say one single vow, Klaus! You need to hear me out, they said 'speak now', they gave us a chance!'_

Isadora was shaken from her daydream by the organ playing some horrible song (Fiona's choosing she was sure). To Isadora, it sounded just like a death march at the most grim, ghastly funeral the world had ever seen.

Isadora hastily glanced around for somewhere to hide, and ended up slipping quietly behind the curtains at the side of the church. She would have laughed if she hadn't felt so sick; here she was, forced to hide behind a pair of drapes because Klaus' _darling _Fiona hadn't bothered to invite her.

Isadora watched, heart hammering, as Fiona virtually floated down the isle, behaving like a pageant queen at some sort of sordid beauty contest. Watching Klaus' face, she heaved a deep sigh. She _knew_ that he wanted it to be her, she just knew …  
Isadora slowly closed her eyes, praying that Klaus would change his mind at the last minute, that he wouldn't say yes, that he would turn around walk out of the door and come to greet her.  
She slid down the wall to sit, shaking on the floor, her breathing coming fast and ragged.

_They said 'speak now' … _

Her eyes snapped open as she heard the preacher say, 'Speak now or forever hold your peace.'

Isadora almost panicked as she felt the silence closing in around her; she leapt to her feet and stepped out from behind the curtain, her hands trembling. She knew this was her last chance. Everyone was staring at her, all the eyes in the room turned in horrified amazement to Isadora, but she had eyes only for Klaus.

'I'm not the kind of girl to be barging in on a … wedding,' she forced the words out, her voice growing stronger with time, 'but Klaus, you are NOT the kind of boy to be marrying the wrong girl!'

Isadora could feel the sour glare that Fiona was throwing her way, but she brushed it off, suddenly unconcerned by what everyone else thought.

'So, please, don't say yes, run away with me, I'll meet you at the back of the church.'

She could see him hesitating, and hastily carried on, 'Don't wait until it's too late, Klaus! Please, just – just hear me out. They said 'speak now', and … I … ' Isadora had finally lost her voice. She stared in hope at Klaus, who was looking between her and Fiona, all eyes now on him.

Then, taking everyone, including Isadora, by surprise, Klaus took one step away from Fiona – and one step towards Isadora.

He opened his mouth, and the mirror of Isadora's words came tumbling out, 'Let's run away now, Isadora – I'll meet you when I'm out of my suit at the back.'

Isadora slowly grinned, then spun round and ran out of the church, stopping at the back and leaning against the rough stone wall, breathing heavily. She could hear shouting inside, and a whole lot of commotion, before Klaus came tumbling outside, dressed now in jeans and a tee shirt.

He glanced around, spotted Isadora and walked straight for her, coming so close that he could cup her face in his hands. He leaned his forehead against hers and smiled.

'Isadora, I didn't say my vows, and I'm … so, so glad you were around when they said 'speak now'.'

_Isadora sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. It took a few moments for her to comprehend that it could really all have been a dream - the wedding, Fiona's ridiculous dress, Klaus choosing to run away with her; it had been so vivid, so detailed. Leaning back on her pillows, Isadora closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Fiona had not been seen for some months, and she was most definitely not marrying Klaus - about that Isadora had nothing to fret about. No, the thing that was really bothering her, the thing that had been bothering her for some time, was that she was not in any way Klaus' sweetheart, and never had been, and yet ... and yet she kept having this dream ... The question was, Isadora thought blurrily as she drifted back to sleep, barely five minutes before she would be woken by the loud clanging of two saucepans being banged together, _what would she do if they did say Speak Now?

* * *

_Yay! Stupid Fiona ... ;) _

_OOOHHHH! I'M GOING TO SEE TAYLOR SWIFT LIVE IN TWO WEEKS AND ONE DAY! So, so stoked. :D_

_Also, good luck to Em in her German GCSE thing. :)  
_

_Fearlessly, _

_LOVELOVELOVE_

_-T-  
_


	4. Untouchable

I SAW TAYLOR SWIFT LIVE! SHE IS THE MOST AMAZING PERSON! AT ONE POINT, I WAS STANDING FEET FROM HER AND SHE LOOKED RIGHT AT ME! :D

_Anyway ... This one is for Violet and Quigley. :) Inspired by the song 'Untouchable', which you can find on the platinum edition of Fearless. It's kind of a cover - the original song is by Luna Halo, but Taylor took it and changed the whole tune/rythme/speed and all that and also changed some of the lyrics so that she came out with this AWESOME song, which is in my opinion far better than the original. :)_

* * *

Untouchable

Violet never told her siblings that she had kept Quigley's telegram all this time. She still had it folded away in her pocket, all she had left of Quigley but memories.

She didn't often unfold it for fear of causing the creases to wear away at the fragile paper. Instead she would sit, clutching it in her fingers as she watched the ocean waters break on the shore. Tonight, however, she had unfolded it, her eyes slipping over the words she had long ago memorized.

With a trembling finger, Violet touched the 'Q' in Quigley, just as she had done so long ago, when she first received the telegram.

Blinking back tears, Violet tore her gaze from the paper to look up at the star-dusted sky, burning coldly a million miles away. Violet shivered. Whenever she read the telegram, it felt like he was right there with her – but she knew, of course, that he wasn't. In reality he was as untouchable as that jewel-bright sky, a marvel Violet could never have.

'So why do I keep reaching out to you, Quigley? '

Violet's whispered words hung in the night air, and she folded the telegram back up and stuffed it, fingers fumbling, back into her pocket.

Wiping the tears from her face, she lay back on the sand, watching the glittering of the stars. Violet squeezed her eyes tightly shut, tears slipping unbidden from the corners.

'Quigley … ' she whispered his name, revelling in the shape and feel of it in her mouth, 'I'm so, so caught up in you.'

Quigley was the brightest thing Violet had ever had, burning through the darkness. When he had been with her, it had been the most amazing feeling ever – something fierce and strong which she had only ever felt with Quigley.

She was not sure when she crept from the waking world into a dream; she just knew she was dreaming. Everything felt different, faintly surreal. The stars above her seemed at once to stay the same, and to shift. Sitting up, Violet reached her hand heavenwards as if to touch them, though her hand met only with cold air. As she watched them, Violet could almost see Quigley's name written in sparkling dew-drop stars across the sky.

A thrill ran through her as she felt breath, _his _breath, upon her neck.

'Come on,' she whispered, shivering even as she lowered her hand. If she just turned around, she would see him, touch him, hold him. If only … if only he would say something. Night after night Violet was caught up in this dream, and night after night she wished Quigley would say that they would be together, that it would all be OK. But he didn't. This was as close as she ever got. A faint breath of air, the light brush of skin on skin, a little taste of heaven, drawing her ever on.

'One day I'll have to leave this place,' the words tumbled from her mouth; she was no longer even aware that she was speaking, 'I have to protect my siblings and Beatrice, Quigley, I have to do what's right for them, let them experience the world– I can't wait here for you. So where will I find you?'

She could almost hear Quigley telling her that he would be there anyway, but this fictitious response was as untouchable as Quigley himself. She felt his warmth beside her, urging her to let go of reality. Once more she gazed up at the stars, watching his name blaze out from the distant sky.

On an impulse, she spun around, ready to see him standing there, to be greeted by empty air.

Briefly she closed her eyes, letting the night air wash around her, feeling nothing but stillness.

When she opened her eyes the world had come back. She was lying on the sand, and everything was as it always was. The stars still shimmered on the water, the waves lapping gently at the shore. Violet could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes and she let out an angry cry of frustration. She felt sick. Sometimes dreaming of Quigley made her head spin so much she could hardly bear it – tonight was obviously one of those nights.

'I want to feel you by my side again,' she sobbed, choking the words out into the still night. The persistent lapping of the waves seemed to be trying to pacify her, as if they were trying to let her know that they understood her plight.

'Oh … come on, Quigley. I'm so caught up in you … '

Violet rose to depart, about to make her way back to the arboretum. As she walked, she turned back and looked up once more at the night sky, watching as a lone shooting star sped across the vast canopy of inky darkness, speckled by pin-pricks of light.

Life was not a dream. Violet knew that, indeed she didn't like to think of it as a dream, preferring always to face up to the realities of life. She hated the thought that her whole life could be some amusing daydream; it went against everything she believed in – it went against science. Yet, as she watched the sky, she remembered how in her dream, Quigley's name had been written in the stars. She was not going to try and fool herself into thinking she could still see it – she couldn't, it wasn't real, it wasn't logical, and most of all, it was simply the stuff of dreams. Still though, she couldn't help but think of Quigley when she watched the stars, because she knew that wherever he was, he must live under that same sky, even if he couldn't always see the same stars. He was untouchable, but they still shared some vague connection.

'Untouchable … '

* * *

_There we are! Did you like it? Thanks for all the reviews by the way. :)  
_

Tabs ~_  
_


	5. Sparks Fly

_Why hello there! It's been a while since I've updated this, so here it is - Sparks Fly. :) Quite short, and actually no dialogue, but I rather enjoyed it. What do you think for the next one? Something bitter, resentful and angry, or sad and sweet? I think I need another chapter that reflects misery after this one. ;)  
_

* * *

Sparks Fly

Somewhere in the middle of the rain-filled city, Violet Baudelaire laughed. Her eyes were bright, wild, as Quigley Quagmire spun her round, catching her as she stumbled into him. He grinned, kissing the top of her head before grabbing her hand and pulling her to face him. Violet felt her whole body go numb, sparks flying and dancing before her eyes as he pulled her in. Their lips crushed together and the world clashed around them.

Violet felt Quigley pull back slowly, his eyes dancing brightly, a daredevil grin upon his face. His life was one that called for recklessness, Violet knew it. She supposed it came from having to make all his decisions for himself for many months when he was just thirteen, and for having lived the rest of his life caught up in the mysteries of VFD. She also knew that she would always be on the edge of falling from her rickety path and joining him in his storm of a life – but Violet's life was like a house of cards, liable to fall down at any moment. She too was free-spirited and ridiculously clever, and she too was always on the run from something, bound up as they both were in V.F.D. Violet, however, had her younger siblings to care for. Being a triplet, Quigley did not have the same responsibilities that Violet had; certainly he always looked out for siblings, and stuck by them through everything, but being the same age as him, he did not need to protect them. Violet's brother and sister, however, were younger, and she was duty-bound to always think first of them. She loved them, and could never see them hurt.

Yet with Quigley, all that fell away. She knew she should run from his way of life but she knew that she would stop and turn around before too long. Quigley was standing there, just close enough for her to touch … so close she felt he could read her thoughts. Violet longed for him to pull her in again, to kiss her here, on the pavement in the middle of the rain, while cars with their headlights glaring swerved around corners, slipping and sliding down the street. He smiled, and she felt her stomach flutter as sparks flew before her eyes.

His eyes caught hers, and Violet gazed back, knowing that his smile would haunt her with every step she took. Violet had over the years built up a defensive barrier against the rest of the world – she was, of course, always polite, and not scared of meeting and becoming friends with strangers, but she was careful when meeting people for the first time, alert for any signs that they might be an enemy. With Quigley, though, there was something that made her rush blindly forward, a feeling that they fitted together perfectly.

Slowly, Violet ran her fingers through his hair, before poking out her tongue and spinning away from him, laughing as he ran after her. They chased wildly through the glimmering city streets, Quigley finally catching up to her outside Café Salmonella. Grinning, he lifted her bodily into the air, twirling them both around before staggering from dizziness and letting Violet to the ground somewhat clumsily. Smiling, Violet threw an arm around his waist and led him down the street, the pair of them delighting in being completely unfashionable in such an 'in' district.

The smiles faded from their faces as Quigley pointed to a thin column of smoke spiralling into the sky somewhere in the muddle of buildings that littered the city. Instantly, Violet removed her arm from Quigley's waist and withdrew her trusty ribbon from her pocket, while Quigley produced a detailed map, criss-crossed with lines and squares. For a second, they stood and blinked at one another, then as one they walked hastily towards a telephone box which stood not too far away, slipping in and removing a panel on the floor to reveal a dark tunnel beneath, into which they both clambered, ready once more to fight fire with nobility.

The truth was that neither of them were actually overly rash or impulsive, but the world they had been thrown into had forced them to make split-second decisions from the time when they were just children, and though Violet knew it was wrong to live her life so constantly on the edge of disaster, she was by now so accustomed to it that she knew she could never turn back from this life – or, indeed from Quigley. If the road she walked with Quigley was to be as fragile as if they were walking on bone china, then so be it. She would let the sparks fly.

* * *

_Well? What do you think? :) Please tell me in an awesome review. :)_

Tabs ~


	6. Haunted

_Hi! Thanks for all th reviews, you are all so kind to me. :) This chapter is part sad/part angry. I chose this one for a number of reasons:_

_1) One of my reviewers (Rose) asked for it._

_2) It seemed to fit in fairly well with what the rest of you wanted._

_3) I just couldn't write anything else right now. In my experience, I should always just go with writing a story to the song that, at the time, I feel most drawn to, or it won't work._

_So, on with the chapter! :)  
_

* * *

Haunted

_Snatch. Rip. Toss. _

The constant stream of motion had become methodical, almost calming, to the young woman sat alone on the floor of a dark, drab room with windows that sparkled with ice and a large oak wardrobe containing nothing but a twisted metal coat hanger.

_Snatch. Rip. Toss. _

She barely cared any more: all the tears, all the paper-cuts, all the memories lost were worth it if only she could forget his face. A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away furiously, leaving her face smeared with blood from the many cuts on her fingers.

_Snatch. Rip. Toss. _

Torn photographs littered the floor, some ripped to shreds, others just lying in halves upon the threadbare carpet. The woman had placed a dusty cardboard box on the ground in front of her, the lid tossed to one side, while from inside the box she withdrew handful after handful of photographs, some clear, some blurry, but all showing the face of one person: Lemony. Lemony Snicket.

_Snatch. Rip. Toss. _

There weren't many photographs left, just a small bundle at the bottom of the box, which she grasped firmly in her hand and lifted, ready for them to meet the same fate as all the other photographs now littered in pieces around her. Suddenly, the woman caught her breath, gazing at the photograph on the top of the pile. There was something different about this photo, though many might not have understood why it made Beatrice (for that was indeed the name of the woman sat upon the carpet) stop and stare. It showed nothing more than an abandoned dock; abandoned, that is, apart from one man, his back to the camera, hands in the pockets of his long trench-coat, staring out at the grey waters of the lake by which he stood.

Beatrice closed her eyes, tears now streaming freely down her face, some of them falling on to the photograph that was causing her so much pain. The thing that scared her about this photo, of course, the thing that many might not have guessed at, was that she could not see Lemony's face, and this was the thought that caused her so much grief and confusion.

_'What if one day I forget his face?'_

Beatrice was angry at herself for even considering the question, but it burned at the forefront of her mind, until she screamed in frustration, her hands pressed to her forehead.

'No! I knew what I was giving up when I turned away from him!' she muttered through gritted teeth, 'I can't turn back now!'

Beatrice had always known what a dangerous line she was walking by becoming involved with Lemony; she had taken her chances and gambled with them, and in the end, she had lost out, though it was something she had never expected to happen. Maybe she had been stupid to turn her back on him, maybe she should have ignored everything Captain Widdershins had told her, but whether or not this was the case, there was no helping it now.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around her and glancing at the window, which glinted serenely back at her, revealing nothing but pearly ice-crystals clinging to the glass, trapping her thoughts with her in the darkness of the room in which she sat. Beatrice felt suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of being completely and utterly lost; she no longer knew who or what to trust – she could hardly trust herself these days. Lemony still loved her, she knew that, but he was a man of honour – he would not return to her so long as she was with Bertrand. But she couldn't lose Lemony again, she had to keep the image of his face clear n her mind …

As if automatically, she reached for the only photographs which she had not yet destroyed, looking through them until she found one in which Lemony was looking once more at the camera. He was smiling in that slightly awkward manner of his, looking as though he would rather be anywhere than in front of the camera. Yet … something had changed. At first, Beatrice couldn't put her finger on it, but it came to her in a flash, the realisation shocking her into dropping the photograph, her body shrinking back to press itself against the wall. His eyes … they were not the eyes she knew. Yes, of course nothing had actually changed about the photograph, but still his eyes seemed cold and distant, a shadow of the man she had once dedicated her life to.

'Come on, come _on _…' Beatrice pleaded with empty air, her tears pouring out now in racking sobs as she rocked herself back and forth, hugging her knees to her chest.

_'I thought I knew you. I thought we could never be parted because I knew all your secrets, I had everything worked out, and now it's all gone so, so wrong. '_

Her thoughts were too much for Beatrice to take, and in one sudden movement she was on her feet, striding back and forth across the empty room, muttering to herself almost incoherently, the tears still flowing.

'I only ever wanted _you_, Lemony … don't leave me, I need you ... '

Reaching the other side of the room for the third time, Beatrice slammed herself into the wall, pounding it ferociously with her fists before slumping against it, appearing to fight for every breath. She knew they were on different paths now; she couldn't turn back no matter what she did or said, but that didn't stop her from wanting him every second of every day. She closed her eyes, reliving everything they had been through, feeling his presence beside her. She was haunted, haunted by the very man she had turned her back on.

'I meant it all, Lemony,' she whispered to the room, letting the silence flood around her, 'I know I walked away, but I never stopped loving you …'

Suddenly, Beatrice felt sick. She was sobbing her heart out to a man she had left behind while she stayed in another man's house. If Bertrand knew, she had no idea how he'd react. Bertrand. The thought of him was enough for a fresh stream of tears to overcome her almost entirely. He was so kind to her, so sweet and loving, always showing more understanding for her feelings than she would have deemed possible. Occasionally, he would make her smile, and for a second she might find freedom, but she could never shake off the wish that it was Lemony by her side instead.

That was why she had been sitting alone in this dark room, tearing up photos of her last lover and scattering them on the floor: she had been trying to escape him, for Bertrand's sake, because she knew she could never devote herself fully to Bertrand while Lemony still haunted her every movement. But did she love Bertrand like she loved Lemony?

_'Maybe … with time I think I could. But I can't let go of _him_.'_

Beatrice began to pace again, pulling her hair free from its knot as she did so and taking long, steadying breaths. Finally she approached the window, forcing it open and letting a burst of fresh air hit her as she lent out to watch the snow-dusted street far below her.

_'What if I never see him again?'_

The thought chilled her to the bone, though a small part of her felt that to let go of him like that might at last give her peace.

'I can't help it,' she murmured in anguish, 'I have to keep holding on, even if I'm holding on to nothing.'

She had thought she had known him so well. She had believed she had got him figured out back-to-front, and yet she had held him only for a while before letting him slip through her fingers like a million grains of sand which can never again be held together. She could not turn back to her previous life, even if the ghosts from that time had echoed through into this life to haunt her footsteps for evermore.

'You're not gone.'

Beatrice spoke loudly, clearly, straightening up and looking at the city which spread out around her like a fan, searching the streets for anyone who dared defy her.

'You can't be gone, I know it, because as long as we have been parted you have haunted me and that _cannot _mean nothing.'

As soon as she had shut the window, Beatrice sank, crying, to the floor. She had never believed that she and Lemony would be finished, but now, that was all her future seemed to hold: an echo of their time together, haunting her sleeping and waking moments alike.

_Beatice only kept two photographs of Lemony. One of him standing alone on the dock, facing away from her – the other the one in which his eyes seemed to have gone cold to her. The others she burnt, watching them curl into blackness without betraying the slightest emotion. Maybe, one day, she would be free. Maybe, if she forgot about all those other photographs, she would no longer be haunted._

* * *

_So, did you like it? :) By the way, I have a dilemma over what to do for Better Than Revenge (which, like all Taylor Swift songs, I absolutely ADORE). I started writing the chapter for it ages ago, and it was based around Isadora writiting vengeful couplets about Fiona stealing Klaus, etc, but the song would actually fit much better with Esme being the evil person__ (the girl in the song sounds SO like her)__ ... So, shall I go for the Fiona one, or the Esme one? If I do Esme, it could still be Isadora writing it, but obviously with slightly different reasons ... she could just be looking for a story to write couplets about, and then putting herself in someone else's shoes or something ... any ideas are welcome! _

**_Also, if you want to take a look at the Speak Now chapter, I changed it somewhat at the end especially, because I wasn't satisfied with it ... _**

_Tabs ~  
_


	7. Safe And Sound

_Hi__! Sorry for a very long delay - life does catch_ _up with one, you know. I hope you all have had/are having very Merry Christmases. I am. :) So, here's the chapter (I know Safe and Sound is for the soundtrack of The Hunger Games, but it's still a Taylor Swift song! And it is ridiculously beaut__iful, by the way.). Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

Safe And Sound

_'I promise. I promise I will _always_ look after Sunny. And Klaus too.'_

Smoke hung heavily in the air, thick and poisonous. The stench of it filled Violet's nose and mouth, it stung her eyes and felt somehow greasy to the touch. Her face was dirty and tear-stained, her hands grazed and bleeding, yet still she hugged her younger sister to her as if her life depended upon it.

'Shh, Sunny, Shh.'

Slowly, Violet rocked back and forth, cradling Sunny as best she could – her younger sister was not a baby any more, but Violet knew that she was still far too young to have seen the things she had seen, or to have experienced the pain she felt.

It was only a few hours since Violet had first smelled the smoke. She could think of nothing else but those terrifying moments of uncertainty, when she had not known if her little sister was even alive.

She had stumbled, half-blind with sleep, from her bed, pushing into the corridor beyond. Flames were already licking the door of her sister's bedroom, and had, by the looks of it, by the sounds of her sister's screams crept unbidden into Sunny's bedroom.

'_Sunny!_' Violet's voice had been a coarse scream, tearing at her throat. She had dashed along the hall to where they kept their fire extinguisher, and had been back in seconds. Without pausing to consider her own safety, she had knocked the fragile door off its hinges with a swift blow from the fire extinguisher and hurtled into the room, spraying the fire with the extinguisher as she went. It was then that she had tripped, falling over the remains of Sunny's door and cutting open her hand on a fragment of wood blackened wood.

The pain, however, had seemed delayed: all Violet had registered was that she could no longer hear her sister's screams; what that might have meant, Violet barely dared to think. Pushing herself to her feet, she had made another effort to extinguish the fire, glancing around as she did so for her sister.

'Violet!'

The voice had come, tearful but brave, from a distant corner of the room, and Violet had spun round to see her sister standing as far from the flames as she could get. Before she could tell her to stay where she was, however, her sister had ran forward to assist Violet, carrying another, smaller, fire extinguisher. Though her instincts had screamed at her to stay with her sister, Violet had edged into the hall to extinguish the last of the flames, and had been both relieved, and scared, to find that the fire had not spread to the stairs – it had been started upstairs. Sure enough, Violet had discovered shattered remains of a bottle that seemed to have contained petrol, and what might have been a flaming torch, both of which, it seemed, had been thrown through an upstairs window.

Turning away from the bottle and torch, Violet had hurried back into Sunny's bedroom, coughing from the smoke, and had seized her sister by the arm, pulling her along the hall until they reached the bathroom, where Violet had stopped and hugged her sister fiercely. The smoke was as thin as they could wish for here, having not been engulfed by flames, but it still lingered in the air. Sinking slowly to the floor, Violet had still held on to Sunny, holding her in her arms and shaking with relief.

Sunny had hugged her back fiercely, her hands caught in Violet's hair.

'Don't leave me alone,' she had whispered, her eyes squeezed shut.

'I'll never let you go, Sunny,' Violet had replied, her voice soft and earnest.

Sunny had not made a sound, but the tears had streamed down her face and into Violet's hair as her shoulders shook, her body seeming fragile even to touch.

It was then that Violet had begun to rock Sunny slowly from side to side, murmuring to her in the universal language of both grief and comfort.

'Hush now, Sunny, and close your eyes. In the morning – ' Violet's voice shook, 'In the morning, it'll be all right. We'll be safe and sound, Sunny. Safe and sound.'

It was then that Sunny had noticed the strange, flickering quality of the light that played on the thin curtains of their bathroom. Slowly, she stood up, moving towards the window, but Violet had pulled her back. When Violet looked at her younger sister, she saw the world of pain that she knew must be in her eyes reflected in Sunny's, and knew that they understood each other. Violet did not want to add to Sunny's pain by showing her the terrible scene that she had glimpsed through the window earlier.

Instead, she looked deep into Sunny's eyes, and spoke the truth.

'Sunny, don't look out of the window. Everything's on fire, Sunny. They're here. They came for us and they can't find us. If,' Violet paused, ' ... if they find us, then they'll kill us. There are already dead people outside, and I _can't _let you join them.'

Sunny had simply blinked and nodded slowly to her sister, and had once more curled up on the floor in her arms.

'Soon,' whispered Violet, 'Klaus will come home from headquarters, Sunny, and we'll be whole again. Never forget that. We are the Baudelaires, and whatever happens, we stick together.'

Sunny nodded, just barely, tears still trickling down her face.

Slowly, quietly, Violet began to sing. It was a song her parents had sung to her, long ago, and what had once been a half-forgotten memory now turned into a source of comfort for both siblings.

'The world is quiet here, Sunny. We're safe and sound.'

* * *

_There! I was going to do a Christmassy song, but I couldn't get it to work, and this just did, so YAY! :D_

Tabs ~


	8. Dear John

_Hi again! Here's my story for 'Dear John' ... funnily enough, the story I've written is quite short, although the song is the longest on 'Speak Now' ... :)_

* * *

Dear John

The photograph, smooth and glossy, was cold to the touch. Kit should know. She'd spent hours looking at it, running her fingers over it, her mind curiously blank. She felt … nothing. She was finally free of his trickery, his mind-games and his manipulation. From now on, there would be no more hasty back-stepping, no more running away and desperate attempts to cover her tracks and please him in yet another ridiculous way.

Kit looked at his face, a perfect picture of arrogance. It made her lip curl just to look at it. Thinking back to the time when she had loved him, Kit shuddered. They had been dark days, very dark.

The nights were long, and cold, and unfriendly. She had spent each waking moment treading carefully in case everything fell through once more and she would be left confused and alone in the world. Her brothers had accused her of losing her mind, her heart, to a villainous man, but she had only scoffed at their words, swearing she was in control.

In truth, she had never been less in control in her entire life. Every day brought changes in Olaf, each more unpredictable than the last. She woke each morning in fear and confusion, praying she would survive another day of his constant rule-changing, and every evening she went to bed wondering which side of Olaf's personality would show itself next time she picked up the telephone.

But all that was gone. Kit could finally see clearly, and it hurt even more than it had done when she was still trapped in his web of lies. She had been so young, so innocent … Just another girl in another dress, whose tears had finally run dry.

'I should've known … ' Kit whispered the words to herself, knowing that they were true. Maybe, indeed, she was to blame – she had always been too optimistic for her own good … well, that was all changed now. She had become shrewd, neither optimistic nor pessimistic, just stuck somewhere in the middle, like so many of her fellow volunteers.

Then again, could she really be to blame? It was, after all, Olaf who had been the one with all the trickery, Olaf who had given her his love and then cruelly snatched it away again. She, Kit, was probably just another name to him now, one name on a long list of women, none of whom understood where they had gone wrong, but all of whom had warned her, time and again, to run while she still could.

Yes, she should have known all along, but she could hardly be blamed for only realising now just how good a liar he was, how good at lying he had always been. The lines between love and trickery had always been blurred with Olaf, too distorted to know where one stood. She had tried so hard to please him, and yet he had only sneered. Still, though, Kit was strong. She felt only a cold, burning hatred towards the man she would once have sacrificed everything for. She wasn't like the other girls, the ones he had burnt out until they were merely tired husks of their former selves, their eyes lifeless and pleading. No, Kit wasn't like them. Alone in his long list of lovers, she stood strong.

'Because I took your matches, Olaf,' whispered Kit, and there was venom in her voice, 'your fire never caught me. And now … now I'm wiser, and better, and stronger. And I have Dewey – and we will shine more brightly than you ever have, Olaf. You should've known .'

Slowly, Kit placed pen to page, and began to write. She believed this was known as a Dear John letter …

_'Dear John … '_

* * *

_There we are! Hope you enjoyed it!_

_Ooh! Has everyone heard about Lemony Snicket's new series 'All The Wrong Questions'? The first book comes out in October, and it's called 'Who Could That Be At This Hour?' They're about Lemony Snicket's childhood in V.F.D! I'm literally SO excited!  
Tabs ~  
_


	9. Better Than Revenge

_Hi! Here is Better Than Revenge! I decided to write it about Esme, but, as Em pointed out, I can write multiple chapters for one song, so there could be one for Fiona ..._

* * *

Better Than Revenge

' "City's sixth most important financial advisor returns to the city" … Have you seen this?'

Isadora held up the newspaper so that Violet could see the headline and the large photograph which came with it.

Violet glanced up, gave the newspaper a dark look as if it had been rude to her, then turned back to examining the insides of a motion-detector.

'Yes, I have. I just hope we won't end up seeing her … ugh, she makes my skin crawl!'

'I know … I mean, what she did to Jerome – it's just so disgusting! Did you know she actually asked for information on where to find him from some ghastly reporter, just so she could seduce him and get his money?'

'Really? Well, I can't say I'm surprised,' Violet hesitated, then said, 'I'm glad she didn't die in the fire at the hotel – I didn't want _anyone_ to – but I didn't want her to return here … '

'Well, with any luck we won't ever encounter her again, but if she's still working against V.F.D, then I'm afraid it's almost inevitable … ' Isadora looked back at the newspaper article, her lip curling as she read on, 'Ha! Listen to this: "Fabulously beautiful Ms. Squalor informs me that she'll be reinstating the 'In Auction', a much missed charity event previously held at Veblen Hall." Charity! That money went straight into her pocket!'

Violet shook her head in disgust, before glancing at her watch, 'Oh, listen, I'm sorry, Isadora, I've got to go – I promised Quigley we'd meet for drinks in twenty minutes, and I have to give him this motion-detector so he can slip it into Hector's pocket at the cocktail party on Saturday. I'll see you later – maybe you can make it to dinner? Sunny's making pancakes.'

Isadora smiled, 'Tell Sunny to make more – I'll be there!'

The door clicked shut behind Violet and Isadora flopped down into a window-seat. Looking back once more at the article about Esmé, she couldn't help but think again of Esmé's treatment of Jerome. It had been despicable – to play with someone's heart like that, and someone who was so nice … Before long, Isadora's imagination was running away with her; she could picture Esmé, triumphant, cold-hearted, having an affair with Olaf behind Jerome's back while he took care of the Baudelaires. She imagined that maybe another woman had loved Jerome, and had watched all this in despair. Isadora couldn't help imagining what it would have felt like to be this imaginary woman, and anger bubbled up unexpectedly inside her.

Even his friends would have felt angry towards Esmé for what she did; anyone would. Before she knew what she was doing, Isadora had grabbed her common-place book and a pen and was scribbling away. She would get her revenge on Esmé.

When she had finished, she sat back and surveyed her work. It wasn't so bad, she thought. Maybe she'd get it published when the Baudelaires and Quagmires finally set up their printing press.

'I think I'll call the poem _Better Than Revenge_,' murmured Isadora, a smile curling her mouth.

_Now listen dears, and listen hard,_

_I tell a tale of two lovers starred,_

_But it's no happy story of love and joy,_

_At its centre lies a cunning ploy,_

_Of this couple one thing can and must be said:_

_The lady fair would have seen her husband dead,_

_Without one single second of regret,_

_For she had caught him in her net,_

_Only to serve her callous need,_

_Of money to satisfy her greed,_

_She was an actress, she fooled him with ease,_

_But she lost all dignity, if you please,_

_And now it's time for truth to be told,_

_She'll remember, when she's old,_

_How all was learnt from some simple verse,_

_And he was freed from her curse._

_She might be smart but she's no saint, _

_Don't be deceived when she tries to feint,_

_A charming smile, a pretty face,_

_She only wants you for her trophy case,_

_'Cause Oh, she's got airs and graces,_

_All to match her many faces,_

_And don't you listen to her, honey,_

_She'll only keep you for your money,_

_I never knew a girl so fake,_

_She's nothing but a sly ol' snake,_

_So, listen dear, one word of warning,_

_Before going back to your pathetic fawning,_

_There is nothing I do better than revenge._

* * *

_There we are! Oh, and I have a blooper line from the poem to show you ... _

BLOOPER:

_But she's no queen of hearts,_

_Inside she's cold and cruel and often farts_

_Yeah ... That line went wrong ... :P_

_Tabs ~  
_


	10. Innocent

_Well hello there, long time no see! Again. My bad. Anyway, here's Innocent, hope you enjoy. And Em, hope it lives up to your standards! ;)_

* * *

Innocent

The hiss and rush of water gushing from a tap. The hot sting of burned flesh. Her lips cracked and raw.

She splashes the water over her face, and sees it run black with soot. She rubs her eyes and immediately wishes she hadn't; they ache and itch now, watering even though she hasn't got any tears left to shed.

She can hardly believe she's seeing herself in the mirror when she looks. Her face is streaked with grime, her eyes are bloodshot and her lips are beaded ruby red with blood. She lets her hair down, thinking it might improve her appearance. She is wrong, but it hardly matters. The click and slam of a door makes her jump. He is home. For a moment, she only stares at herself, wondering what she wants; then she leaves the bathroom, walking until she sees him.

He is standing in the dining room, a glass of wine in his hand. He barely manages to say, 'You look terrible,' before she is kissing him, running her hands through his hair, feeling the warmth of his body seep through her misery, soothing and comfortable.

And then she stops. The taste and scent of wine is not strong enough to hide the whisper of wood-smoke that lingers undeniably about him. And yet, he can't have been at the fire. She would have seen him helping the others, helping to save lives, unless – unless he was there before she was. Unless he was not helping to put out the fire, but was instead the cause. Kit doesn't know what to think. She leans her head against his chest, but flinches and backs away when he strokes her hair.

'What is it?' Olaf asks, 'What's wrong?'

She answers with a question of her own. It's a simple one, but she dreads the answer.

'Where have you been?'

Olaf hesitates, and she lets out a dry sob before she can stop herself, clenching her hand into a fist and pressing it to her lips.

'Out. I was visiting a friend across town.'

_Liar_. The word springs readily to her mind but she pushes it away.

'Why do you smell of wood-smoke?'

'I could ask you the same question.'

_Burned, blackened skin. Tiny hands that crack and bleed when she moves … _Kit blinks, suppressing the images that are clustering unbidden in her mind.

'There was a fire. At the Duchess' house. There were … a lot of people there.'

Kit watches him, trying to read his expression, but he is unfathomable.

'I'm sorry to hear it.'

'Liar.' This time the word escapes her mouth before she can hold it in. She watches, scared, for his reaction. Olaf's eyes cloud with anger and he advances upon her, slowly and menacingly.

'What did you call me?'

'Were you there, Olaf? Did you start the fire? _Tell the truth_!' Kit screams the last words because she can't remember how else to speak. She has been suspecting this for so long, so very, very long …

Olaf surveys her for a few moments, then says, quite calmly, 'Yes.'

Kit feels sick. She guesses she ought to leave him right now, this very instant, but she can't.

_Eyes which can barely open. Hair burnt to clumps of inch-long bristles. A body that feels lighter than air … _

'Well,' Kit finds her voice is sticking unpleasantly in her throat and she gives a forced laugh, 'I guess you've really done it this time.'

Olaf says nothing.

'Oh, Olaf … Don't you … don't you see what you're doing? You've lost yourself and you're losing everybody you care about … Please, Olaf. You're losing your mind, I can see you changing.'

Kit has to stop talking; her throat is painful. Olaf merely stands there, watching her.

'Olaf, don't you remember … when you were little, and everyone believed in you? Wasn't that easier?' She smiles, and it's almost genuine. Almost.

'Yes, well, they don't any more, do they? Fickle creatures, humans.' Olaf takes a gulp of wine, briefly staining his teeth red.

'No, Olaf! You're the one who's changed, not them … you've left a warpath too long and wide to cope with, Olaf, but I still believe in you. You can still be innocent, Olaf. If you just … just stopped and thought for a minute.'

'Well, what do you want me to think about, Kit? About you? About myself?'

'No. About the fires. About the little girl who died in my arms today, because of the fire you began.'

Kit swallows, trying not to picture the girl's ruined body, the soot she coughed up when she tried to speak, her torn, burnt flesh. Olaf stares at her and Kit knows he feels something. What, she can't tell.

'What I'm saying, Olaf, is that it's not too late. If you change now, then you can forget the past. You're still an innocent. You still burn brightly to me, but if you continue to choose fire over nobility, then you'll lose everything. Time will change it all, my love. Your fires will fade and die, the embers will cease to glow. I still love you … '

Kit is close to him again now, and she can feel his breath on her lips, see the glimmer in his eyes.

'We've all made mistakes, Olaf. You'll have a new and better life if you accept yours and move on.'

'Move on?' There is anger in Olaf's voice as he glares down at Kit. 'How can I ever _move on?_ You have chosen your path, Kit, and I have chosen mine. It is up to you whether we walk them together or apart.'

'Don't make me … ' tears are sliding down Kit's face now, leaving tracks in the dirt, 'don't make me choose … '

'I'm afraid I have to. Because I can't live with you if your heart doesn't truly belong to me.'

Kit is startled by his words. He speaks them harshly, but their meaning is softer than maybe he would like her to believe.

'Oh, Olaf … if only you could see yourself. You're broken. You hate what you've done, I know you do. You can't speak of it, but you relive it whenever the darkness presses, don't you? Is that why you always have a candle burning by your bedside? In case the doubt creeps in? If only you could see … '

'See what?' He spits the words out savagely.

'See that if you just lost your love of fire, you would be able to be innocent once more. See that who you are is not who you've been.'

'And I suppose you're innocent, are you?'

'Comparatively so.'

'And that girl – the one I killed. Was she innocent?'

Kit closes her eyes, pain flooding her as the image of a crumpled figure covered in a white sheet swims and blurs in her mind

'Of course.'

'Then innocent has killed innocent, Kit Snicket. This has been the way for years gone by, and shall remain so for years to come.'

He pulls her forwards and their lips meet, but only briefly; Kit pushes him away, her face contorted as she fights in vain against her tears.

'Go,' she whispers, and it is as if a stranger is speaking through her mouth, 'Go and never come back.'

'I'll never be gone, Kit. _Never_. I swear, there will come a time when I will kiss your lips again.'

'_Go!_' Kit screams the word at him, her voice seeming to tear from the force of her words.

As Kit slumps, sobbing, to the floor, she hears the door slam. _He is gone_, she realises. _Whatever he says, he is gone and he has been going for a long time now. He will never touch my lips again, and he will always be my enemy._

Her thoughts are fierce, but she knows she is suppressing her grief, a grief that will surely come soon and leave her ruined.

His words, however, have made her think. She sits there for hours, letting the room grow dark around her as she whispers, over and over, '_If innocent kills innocent, then where do we lay the blame?_'

It is a question she will never answer.

* * *

_What did you think? Please tell me in a lovely review. :D Also, who's heard Taylor's new song We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together? Isn't it A.M.A.Z.I.N.G?_

_Tabs ~  
_


	11. The Best Day

_Hi there__! Here's another chapter for you all ... _

* * *

The Best Day

Violet's legs seem to be working too fast to keep up with themselves. She can hear her breath coming in gasps too slow to sustain her speed for long, too small to fill her lungs. A laugh cuts through the air, light and carefree, taking the sting from the chill winter winds that are reddening Violet's cheeks more with each passing moment. Violet turns around, beaming, searching for her mother's warm smile, for her long winter coat and wide brown eyes.

'Mama!'

Violet flings herself at her mother, wrapping her arms tightly about her legs. Beatrice Baudelaire laughs again, hoisting her daughter into her arms.

The view is breathtaking to Violet, and she wonders dimly what it's like to be this tall, promising herself she will be taller even than this, one day … as tall as her father, even …

Beatrice sings a lullaby as she carries her daughter across the sand. She sings of peace and quiet in a world gone hopelessly wrong, of safety born from disaster, of tranquillity snatched from the jaws of terror.

Violet's eyes slide closed as the dying sun turns the sky, the sea and the sand a pale gold, and her mother's voice carries her away from Briny Beach and into the realm of dreams.

Violet lay in bed, staring with unseeing eyes at a vase of flowers which stood on the windowsill, a shaft of moonlight turning their petals into shards of silver. Their sweet, decaying stench filled the room, cloying and musty. Violet was too despondent even to cry. How could she? How could she do anything but lie and stare and grieve in stifling silence?  
Her mind was blank and hazy, quite unaware of the world around her. With an effort, she focused her thoughts on her parents. Violet wasn't quite sure why she was finding it so difficult to think about them – but then, since their death, she had found it very hard to focus on anything at all.

One of the Poe children – it might have been Edgar, but then again, it could have been Albert – gave a loud, grunting snort and rolled over in his bed.  
Violet sighed, confusion and misery flooding her as she realised that even this simple action was tiresome to her body. What was wrong with her?

And then, suddenly, the tears came. Her throat ached and burned with them, and her eyes narrowed as her vision blurred.  
If her mother were here, she would have held Violet tight in her arms, a melancholy yet comforting tune already upon her lips as she embraced her daughter. The thought made Violet weep harder. She fought to control her tears, feeling her body shudder alarmingly with every breath she took. Violet wanted to talk aloud, whisper pleas and miseries to her dead parents, but she knew she couldn't. Klaus and Sunny might also be awake, and she couldn't let them know how scared and weak she was; she was the eldest Baudelaire child, and it fell to her to stay strong for all three of them, no matter the circumstances.  
_I'm only fourteen_, she thought desperately, _I should still have my parents_.  
Violet buried her face in her pillow, blocking out the pressing silence of the night so her own thoughts echoed loud within her head.  
I need you, Mother. Now more than ever. I had the best days with you.

***  
It was quiet in the arboretum. Klaus and Sunny were taking a stroll along the shore; they would be picking through the detritus that coated the coastal shelf, explaining various items to Beatrice, hiding other from her so she might never have to see them.

Normally, Violet would accompanied them. But not now. Not today.

Today she was sitting curled in a large armchair in their home under the bitter apple tree, trying to block out the world. She had a book in her lap – A Series of Unfortunate Events. It was heavy and large, the weight and feel of it reassuring to her touch. With shaking fingers, Violet traced the words her parents had written so long ago. Words of hope and joy. Words about Violet.

They hadn't even known if she would be a boy or a girl, and yet they had loved her. She could tell it from the way they wrote. The words they used.  
A single tear fell through the air to land on the page she was reading. Angry with herself, Violet mopped it up with her sleeve, hoping not to have smudged the ink.

'You were an excellent father, you know,' whispered Violet. Her eyes were focused on the writing at her fingertips, but in her mind, she saw only her father.  
'And I wish you could see Klaus and Sunny. They're brilliant. Better than me, both of them. And mother … '

Words failed Violet. Sniffing, she flicked the pages until she found her mother's handwriting. Shaking slightly, Violet pressed her face to the page, inhaling the scent of dust and spices that clung to the book. Her mother had touched these pages pages, long ago. If Violet closed her eyes, she cold imagine it was her mother's hand which now caressed her cheek, and not the dry pages of a book.  
But she couldn't remain like that. She knew that soon she would be crying in earnest, and she would ruin the book which was her only link to her long-dead, precious parents.

'I don't know if you knew, mother, but I had the best days with you. I'll never forget that. I had the best day with you, and I love you. I love you. I – '  
Violet's voice wavered and cracked, and she shut the book, tears obscuring her vision and stifling her speech.

Slowly, softly, she kissed the front of the book, then stood up and replaced it on its shelf. She left the armchair warm and wet with tears.

'I had the best day with you, Mama. I wish you were – ' But Violet could not finish. With a sob, she buried her face in her hands, crying for a day long gone, a day she would never see again.

* * *

_So. Two very exciting things to do with the two things this story combines: today Who Could That Be At This Hour? comes out, the first book of Lemony Snicket's new series All The Wrong Questions. Aaaaghhh! I pre-ordered it, and I think it should arrive tomorrow, because they dispatched it today ... EXCITED SQUEEFULNESS!_  
_And Taylor Swift's new album, Red, came out yesterday and I've got it and it's splendiforousawesomeamazingn ess. And there are a lot of new songs to write stories on ... ;) Especially since I got the deluxe version, which has extra songs. :DDDDDDDDD_

_Tabs ~  
_


End file.
